“All I need to do is . . . not see him again,” I sniff. Ever. Doom tilts his neck as if he understands every word I say. I sit up straight. That’s it.
“You know,” I say, “Take 2 Interactive has begged me to come to work for them full-time for a while now.” Doom doesn’t seem too impressed by this nugget of information.
“Maybe it’s time for us to move to New York,” I tap the kitten on his nose. He frowns then sneezes.
“It’s a great city.” Any city Damion-free sounds great right now.
“Mew.” The cat agrees. He’s such a good listener.
I reach for my phone and find a few messages. Mostly from my brothers – who, except for Ilkay, have been out of town. But they will all be at Uncle John’s today. I hold my breath as I scan through everything, but there’s no message from the Devil. Guess hell doesn’t have cable.
Damion fell off the earth – or so I’ve been told by Kiara. No one has heard from him in two weeks – he was last seen at the hospital that night. His phone is going straight to voicemail. He does read his messages though – the only sign that he’s at least out there somewhere. His parents are worried about him. Dean is worried about him. His team is worried about him. Even the press is worried about him.
He missed the season’s closing ceremony. Mark accepted all his trophies on his behalf.
“I’m not worried,” I say to Doom, who stops cleaning his face to give me an I-don’t-believe-you-and-I’m-a-cat look.
“I hope he gets blinded by pictures of Chloe’s hanging tits.” I try to sound more believable. Then I see the last message.
D Stalker: Merry Christmas my love (pink-heart emoji) Soon we’ll be together forever.
Will this guy never stop? I for sure don’t have any energy left to deal with the likes of him. But his words slightly bother me.
I get up and walk to the bathroom with stiff aching legs. Darn flu. I feel like something that dropped out from Doom’s ass. I should know. I’m the one cleaning his sandbox and it’s nasty.
My face in the mirror tells me that this bug hasn’t been good for my appearance. My hair is a dirty mess, tied up into a bird’s nest on the top of my head. My eyes are dull and underlined by dark circles. My skin is pale, almost see-through and the dirty shirt … his dirty shirt … is hanging even more like a sack on my body. I’ve lost a good six pounds and right now I look like the zombie I’m feeling – mindless and dead inside.
All because of this darn bug. The crappy virus stuck to me ever since I ran out of his house.
I call it the broken-heart flu.
I remove the sweaty T from my body and jump in the shower. The warm water tingles my skin. I shampoo, condition, and scrub every nook and cranny clean of dirt. I tie a towel around my body and stare into the mirror again. I still look like shit, but at least I feel fresh. Right now I’m going to start clean … a new life.
While slowly getting dressed, I need to sit down a few times before I’m done. Damn, I don’t even have the energy to put on a jean and a jersey. I really feel like crap. I throw some clean underwear, a tracksuit, and a dress in a bag.
I drag my sorry ass to the kitchen while Doom attacks my toes, hissing and playing. I fill his water bowl.
I scoop some cat food from a tin in the fridge, but the smell makes me gag so I try not to breathe while putting it on the floor for Doom. This broken-heart bug is definitely not for sissies.
“Merry Christmas, little sister,” Enrique grabs me from behind into a tight hug.
So my one long-lost brother is finally back. I almost burst into tears. What the hell is wrong with me? I wipe my arm over my face.
“Merry Christmas,” I sob, forcing him to turn me around and take notice of my broken appearance.
“Don’t you look like shit.” I can always count on my family for healthy compliments.
He pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear with a huge frown between his Heterochromia eyes.
“Are you alright?” Not even remotely. But I nod.
Ilkay walks in.
“Merry X-mas everyone,” he shouts cheerfully. Glad he’s all stars and rainbows. And just because he managed to find out that Amy girl’s full name. She’s a teacher from a small town in Maryland. I hug him.
“Are you ready to go?” No. I just want to crawl into bed and sulk. But with the family I have that’s not an option. They’ll probably drag me away, mattress and all.
“Yes.” The boys help me and Kiara to load our stuff and all the presents in Ilkay’s truck.
“Sis, you don’t look so well.” He scans his doctor’s eyes over me, holding onto my arms as if he’s scared I might fall over. And he’s not entirely wrong, it feels as if I might faint any moment.
“I’ve got the flu,” I explain even though he’s a doctor and subsequently should know everything about the influenza virus. He furrows his brows while he helps me into the truck.
“Are you still on the pill?” Now I frown. Why would he ask me that?
“Yes, the same one all these years.” He looks at Kiara for confirmation. As if I might lie.
Kiara nods. “She is.” Without any further interrogation, he starts up his truck and gets us going.
Ilkay’s phone rings through his truck’s Bluetooth, interrupting the song on the radio we were listening to. Jackson’s name is displayed on the electronic screen on the dash and Ilkay taps the button on his steering wheel to answer it.
“Hey,” he says loudly. “Glad to see you haven’t lost my number.” Jackson and Axel went on some secret mission to New York. All I could get out of my tight-lipped friend was that they were looking for some pussy. Considering they didn’t travel right across the country looking for a cat, I just left it at that.
“Are you at Uncle John’s?” He sounds almost as chirpy as the doctor.
“Almost, you?”
“Just getting to the bridge.”
“You’re driving back?” Enrique asks surprised.
“Yeah … from Big Sky.” My brothers look at each other funny.
“You went skiing?” Ilkay this time.
“Nah, I went to commit murder,” he says flatly, “but turns out everything was just one fucked up huge misunderstanding.” I’m not following. But that’s nothing new. It’s like the guys have their own language – using minimalistic phrases to communicate far above your head, while leaving you unknowingly ignorant at best.
“Which is great ’cause now I don’t have to dig a grave or kill a deer,” he says sternly. “It’s fucking difficult to dig a big enough hole for a deer and a corpse in frozen ground.” Not sure what a deer has to do with it. Each time Jackson says stuff like that, I’m pretty much just hoping it’s a joke.